The Shaman's Rage
by BAW
Summary: Don't mess with a Shaman; part of the Jacob's Ladder series.


Shaman's Rage

**The Shaman's Rage**

**By**

**BAW**

**Disclaimer: **This is a piece of fanfiction, set in the world of **The Sentinel**; that world is the intellectual property of Pet Fly, Paramount, and other entities. No infringement is intended; by counsel's opinion, fanfiction written for amusement and/or as a compositional exercise falls within 'fair use.'

**Archive:** Please; just tell me where.

**Feedback**: It is through feedback that I become a better writer; please address any and all comments and questions to [lawrence81@iwon.com][1]

**Thanks: **To my betareaders; even when I did not take your suggestions, I appreciate your time and efforts.

**Notes: **This is a part of the **Jacob's Ladder** series, coming after _In Soggy Old Cascade/Three Furies _and _Or the Leopardess Her Spots/Night Terrors. _This series started with the trilogy of _The Natural-But There Will be Joy in the Morning-Up the Twisted Staircase_ and concludes with _The Sandburg Express._ I am not sure how many stories it will ultimately include. No post-_Express_ stories are planned at this time, but 'never say never.'

The information about Ellison clan affiliation is at [www.tartans.com/cgi-bin/clans.cgi][2] and about Irish regional tartans is at [www.lindaclifford.com][3]. The bit about the _Sandburgs of Glasgow_ I frankly made up, although there _is _a Glasgow District Tartan. (If I understand the websites correctly, most _Scots_ tartans are associated with clans and families, while most _Irish_ tartans are associated with counties and regions, although there are a few Irish family tartans and some Scots district tartans.)

The animal pictures at the end are from [http://www.animalpix.net/][4] I could not, alas, find a picture of a wolf with blue eyes.

_**Special Note to TAE:**_In one of your stories--which I enjoyed very much, BTW, as usual--you suggested an explanation for some similarieties between a TS character and one on another show. I hint at another possible explanation--but blink and you might miss it. 

Det. B. Jacob Sandburg was making a significant dent in the mountain of paperwork on his partner's desk. That partner was in court all day, and everyone knows that paperwork, if left on its own, _breeds_; therefore, having finished his own documentation, he decided to have mercy on his absent Sentinel.

Reaching for the clay mug at his left hand, he found it empty. He therefore took a box labeled with Chinese characters out of his desk drawer and started for the break room. In the hall he met the only member of the Cascade PD who gave Brian Rafe any competition in the 'fashion plate' category--Det. Ian MacArdry of Fraud.

"Hey, Sandburg--is Ellison in? I need to talk to him about a case."

"No, Jim's in court. I'm familiar with all his cases though--you can talk to me."

"I don't talk to sidekicks."

There was suddenly, in front of MacArdry's nose, a size 8½ hiking boot, enclosing a foot, attached to a leg, belonging to an irate anthropologist-turned-detective; had Jacob's control been any less precise, MacArdry would have been rendered somewhat less handsome.

"_This_ is a sidekick, MacArdry," snapped Jacob, withdrawing his foot, "**I**, on the other hand, am Detective Ellison's _partner_. If you want a further demonstration of the difference, I'll gladly give you one. If, on the other hand, you want to discuss the Robertson case, go into the bullpen and wait for me."

The stunned MacArdry complied. Jacob presently returned carrying a tray containing two mugs, a few packs of sugar, and a few packs of non-dairy creamer.

"I don't remember if you take anything in your coffee," he said conciliatorily, setting the tray on his desk, "I don't. Now, what do you want to know about the Robertson case?

"How did Court go?" asked Jacob.

"Not too badly. For a criminal defense lawyer Epstein isn't too bad. He can represent his client's cause zealously without being obnoxious about it, and Hanson's a good ADA. I think we'll win this one."

"Good. I had a little run-in with MacArdry today."

"Oh?"

"He called me your _sidekick._"

"That peabrained, pompous, arrogant, overdressed. . . .I ought to. . .," erupted Mt. Ellison.

"Relax, Big Guy--I explained the difference to him in a way he's not likely to forget."

"Oh," said Jim, forcing himself to calm down, "Did you hear from Jack?"

"Yes. Nothing. Alain was last seen in the Old City of Cairo. He went there from the Royal Canadian Legation. He was last seen drinking coffee in a little hole-in-the-wall place and reading a letter. When he finished the letter, he left the café and that was the last anyone saw of him. He never contacted the dig or the Institute. British and Canadian Intelligence turned Cairo upside down looking for him. Jim, I'm worried."

"If half what I've heard about Alain's past is true, he's been in tight spots before and gotten out of them."

"Yes, but still. I have a feeling that _we_ should be doing something."

"Why?"

"The warning was sent to _us,_ Jim."

"Are you sure that was a warning?"

"Jim, that wind came up out of _nowhere_. It felt like a hurricane, but all it did was blow out the menorah and knock down three books--a Bible, an Archaeology text, and a book about Martial Arts. That combination points directly to Alain; he's a priest, an archaeologist, and a martial artist. Of _course_ it was a warning. A shaman knows these things."

"Well, let's say it _was_ a warning. Cairo's a little out of our jurisdiction, Chief."

"True. But I feel so _helpless._"

"I understand, Chief. Do you want us to put in for leave, fly to Cairo, and poke around?"

"No, Jim. That wouldn't work. I don't know Cairo that well, and you've never been there. . .have you? "

"No."

"Nobody'd talk to a couple of Westerners, especially as we don't speak Arabic. But I think I'll try to scry for him."

"Scry?"

"Remember when you were locked in that basement in the North Harbor? I used our medallions to find you. I might be able to do the same thing for Alain; at least, it'll do no harm to try."

"But not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Steven, Maggie, and Megan are coming to dinner to talk about the wedding, remember?"

"I'm sorry, Jim--with all this about Alain, I'd totally forgotten."

"Well, that's understandable. I bought a chicken; I thought you could make your special garlic roast chicken."

"Do we have any veggies?"

"Peas and carrots."

"I'll make orange-glazed gingered carrots, and peas with pearl onions, if we can stop at the market for pearl onions and oranges. Rice or potatoes?"

"Baked potatoes. We still have that sour cream."

Once they got home, Jim and Jacob flew around the kitchen. Soon everything was at the let-it-sit-for-while or the throw-on-at-the-last-moment stage. Jacob popped into the shower while Jim set the table. As soon as Jacob was out, Jim took his turn. After dressing, Jacob put some music on the stereo, lit a fire, and was puttering in the kitchen by the time Jim came back downstairs. They timed it quite well, as Steven and Maggie showed up at about that time. Megan came a bit later.

During dinner they discussed the wedding in general terms. When an Ellison marries a Ross it is, perhaps, a foregone conclusion that the wedding will be Scottish-themed, but the details had to be worked out. Maggie would have her dress trimmed with bands of Ross tartan; she'd also have a Ross tartan sash. Each bridesmaid would wear a sash of her own tartan, either clan (Scots) or county (Irish). Those who were neither Scots nor Irish would wear U.S.A.-St. Andrews. It was up for discussion about what the men would wear. Maggie wanted to have the men in kilts. The Ellison brothers wanted to wear tuxes with the ties and cummerbunds in McPherson (of which 'Ellison' is a sept.) They compromised; Steven and Jim would wear kilts; the other men would wear the tie and cummerbund.

"I don't see _why_ you object to a kilt, Jimbo," said Megan, "You've got the legs for it."

Jacob sniggered.

"I just feel odd about wearing a skirt," he grumbled, "It reminds me of going undercover as a drag queen."

Jacob choked on his wine. Steven had a coughing fit.

"You never told me this, bro," said Steve accusingly, "Come on, spill it."

"Yeah, _partner_," put in Jacob, "No offense, but I think you'd make one _homely_ drag queen."

"That was the point. Someone was stalking and beating up transvestites--but only the half-way ones. You know, the ones who obviously look like men dressed up--not the ones you have to get _real_ close to tell they weren't women with big hands and feet. Well, I was one of the guys who drew short straws and. . . ."

After dinner, they moved to in front of the fire. Jim and Jacob looked at each other.

"Jim, I think that the time has come."

"You're right, Chief."

"What? What's going on?" asked Steven.

"Steven, you remember what we call_ the Implosion_?"

"I'll never forget--no matter how hard I try."

"Maggie?"

"You mean when Sandburg got himself booted from the University and then joined the Department? Of course."

"Well, only a few people know the whole story. Sandburg didn't lie. Or rather, his press conference was a lie--not the dissertation."

"You mean. . . you really _are _a Sentinel?"

"Yes, Steve, I am. Only Sandburg, Capt. Banks, and Megan know at the PD. And now you two. I'm sure you understand why we have to keep it a secret."

**"So that explains. . ." **Steven and Maggie said together.

". . .some of the things that happened when we were kids," finished Steven.

". . .and a great many things that have happened in the Department," added Maggie, "but why tell us now?"

"Because," said Megan, "if I understand Sandy's research aright, being a Sentinel is genetic."

"Exactly," said Jacob, "and if you two have kids. . ."

"They'll be Sentinels," finished Maggie.

"_Might be_," corrected Jacob, "I don't fully understand the genetics of Sentinelism. It seems to skip generations. William doesn't have it, nor do you or your cousin Rucker. However, your cousin Adian is a demi-Sentinel. Unfortunately, I don't know anything about your mother's family."

"Nor do we. She was from California, and her maiden name was 'Hunter', but beyond that . . ." said Steve.

"Be that as it may," put in Jim, "we thought you should know. I went through _hell_ as a child because Dad didn't understand or encourage my senses. I hope my nephews and nieces won't have to go through that."

"I theorize," added Jacob, "that a young Sentinel who grew up using his senses and didn't have to repress them might not have so much trouble as Jim did--and sometimes still does--have."

"I'm afraid that I don't quite understand. If I remember correctly, Jim can see and hear a lot better than the rest of us. What's the problem?" asked Maggie.

Between them, Jim and Jacob explained what it meant to be a Sentinel. Jacob talked about the historical, mythical, literary and legendary accounts of Sentinels, and Burton's work on them; he also discussed the psychology and physiology of Sentinelism, and the rôle of the Guide, while Jim recounted concrete examples from their work together. Neither mentioned spirit animals or other facets of the mystical side of Sentinelism; that would have been too much to take at one sitting. 

"I suspect," said Jacob,"that Edgar Allen Poe might have known at least one Sentinel; that would explain _The Fall of the House of Usher, _and perhaps also _The Tell-Tale Heart_. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might have known one, too; it would explain some aspects of Sherlock Holmes."

Before he had the chance to elucidate that last point, Megan explained how she stumbled onto the truth down in Sierra Verde, and how she sometimes acted as Jim's backup Guide.

"One of the reasons I've extended my stay here; much like Sandy kept renewing his Observer's pass. I'm not nearly as good at it as Sandy is; he theorizes that each Sentinel is bound to a particular Guide, and vice versa, and that if another Sentinel were to come along I might be able to bind to him or her. Tell me, Sandy--if _the Implosion _hadn't happened, what would you have done after you got your degree?"

"Good question, Megan. Jim would still have needed me. I think that was why I dragged my feet so much in completing the dissertation. Perhaps I could have signed on as a counselor in Victims' Advocacy, or gone into Forensics. Who knows, I _might_ even have gone through the Academy! A policeman with a Ph.D.--stranger things have happened!

"But that's water under the bridge. I'm here, and here I will stay. Things might have been different, but they couldn't have been better. 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger.'"

"Steven and I have a lot to talk about," said Maggie, "and we do appreciate your telling us about this."

"Yes, Jim," put in Steven, "what you and Jacob described tonight has made a lot of things make sense that didn't before. Thank you, and good night."

They left. Megan hung around a bit, helping with the cleanup. 

"Jim, Sandy," she said as she got ready to leave, "you did a good thing. I like your brother. If Maggie weren't such a good friend--_and_ didn't have such a good cyclone kick--I'd consider making a play for him myself. D'you have another brother in the cupboard somewhere?"

"Just Jacob," said Jim.

Megan gave each of them a quick, sisterly hug and left.

"Chief," said Jim over breakfast the next morning, "I've been thinking."

"Yes?"

"Your Sentinel research should be published."

"_Jim!_ I can't publish--nobody would believe me, it'd just rake up the old scandal. I'm just starting to build up my academic reputation again with my articles and working on my DeMontford degree, and you want me to. . . ."

"Hold on! I never said _you_ should publish it. I quite understand why that would be a bad idea. But why couldn't you give your research to someone else, have him verify your results, and publish under _his_ name? The main point is to get the information out there. Alex and I can't be the only Sentinels around, and they need that knowledge."

"OK, I see your point. I think I have someone in mind."

"Who?"

"Your cousin Adian. He's a demi-Sentinel himself, and a relative, and as an M.S.W. he has the behavioral sciences background to verify my findings."

"I was thinking of Alain. He has an international scholarly reputation, if in another field, and he's a _priest_--people would tend to believe him."

"And he'd be even better with the ancient source material than Adian. If I could only dump them both in the blender and. . ."

"When we find Alain and bring him back to Cascade, let's invite Adian over for dinner and put it to them both. Perhaps they'll be agreeable to a joint venture."

"You say _when_ we find him?"

"I refuse to believe that we won't. When do you want to try that scrying thing?"

"Tonight, after dinner."

"Good. Let's go--crime and tide wait for no man."

"Hi-ho, hi-ho, 'tis off to work we go. . ." sang Jacob.

"_One _of us is too tall to be a Dwarf!"

That night Jacob fixed a very light supper of soup, salad, and sandwiches. They drank water. He told Jim that ideally they would do this fasting, but that--given the sort of day they had--they really need _some_ sort of sustenance. Normally they would drink either beer or iced tea, but neither alcohol nor caffeine were, he opined, good ideas.

Supper and cleanup being over, he and Jim cleared an open area in the center of the floor and spread a mat. Jim sat in the center, in a lotus position, while Jacob lit some incense.

"What's that?"

"Frankincense. Now, I'm going to anoint you with oil of myrrh. Forehead, chest, hands. Now you do the same with me," he said, dropping into a lotus position in front of his Sentinel. "Now, open your senses. Smell and taste the incense and oil. Listen to my voice. Feel my hands in yours. Close your eyes; picture Alain's face. Block out all sensations except for what the oil, the smoke, and my voice. Try to empty your mind of all thoughts."

Closing his eyes, Jacob started to chant softly in Hebrew. The loft faded around them and they found themselves in a round clearing in the jungle. Jim was clad in his jungle warrior's garb; Jacob wore the white linsey-woolsey robe of his _kohenic_ heritage. Four young men appeared at the entrance of each path. Three were clad similarly to Jacob, although in different colors. The man in the south wore garments similar to Jim's but in red, and was armed with a spear. To the east was one in yellow with a bow-and-arrow, to the west was one in blue with a trumpet, and to the north was one in green holding a smooth stone.

The two at the east and west nodded, then turned and walked up their paths, away from the clearing. Almost immediately the panther came running from the west and the wolf from the east, each one taking a seat next to his human.

"Why have you come?" asked Green.

"To learn our friend's fate," answered Jacob.

"Why have you come?" asked Red.

"To learn how we may help him," answered Jim.

"Then," said Green, standing aside, "follow your guides and fear no danger."

The two spirit animals ran up the path. Jacob tucked the hem of his robe into his belt and followed, Jim coming behind. Soon they came to another clearing, slightly smaller than the other, at the base of a cliff. There was a cave in the cliff, obviously the lair of some creature. The wolf and the panther stopped at the entrance, but would not go in.

Jim and Blair stooped down and looked in. There was a brief glimpse of something all fur and teeth, and then. . . .

They were back in the loft.

"What was that?" asked Jim.

"Let's get the loft back in order," said Jacob, "and I'll explain it."

That task accomplished, they sat at the table. 

"First," said Jacob," the four colorful guys were the Archangels: Rafael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael, for the four quarters. Respectively, East, West, North, and South; also the four elements--air, water, earth, fire. Or, as modern physics would have it, the four states of matter: gas, liquid, solid, plasma."

"So far, so good. But why did only Michael and--Uriel did you say?--talk to us?"

"Michael is, according to the Book of Daniel, the special angel for the Jewish people; Christian tradition makes him the patron of law enforcement. We have an affinity for him on both counts. Uriel is associated with scholarship and the seeking out of secrets; because he's associated with the earth, buried treasure comes under his domain."

"So he'd be for Alain."

"Yes. He's also the Angel of Good Death."

"_Good _Death?"

"Yes. Old age, after a long, full life. Or release from a painful illness or debilitating injury."

"We ran to the North. Uriel's direction. Does that mean that Alain's dead?"

"I don't think so. In danger, yes, but not death. I think we were lead that way because Uriel has an affinity for him. If he were, say, a physician, we'd have been lead to the East, Raphael's direction. Raphael is the Angel of Healing."

"And what was that _thing_ in the cave?"

"I think it was a wolverine. Even a panther or a wolf would hesitate to go into a wolverine's den."

"That's true. But what do you think it means for us?"

"I think that Alain's been captured by something or someone very dangerous. Helping him would be difficult and dangerous but not impossible. Now, I'm going to try something else. Get the atlas and your medallion."

While Jim was getting the requested items, Jacob disappeared into his room, emerging with his own medallion and a silk aviator's scarf. Taking the atlas from Jim, he opened it to a map of the world.

"Now, Jim, put your medallion on. This scarf is Alain's; he left it behind after his last visit. We'll use it to bind my right wrist to your left. Now, hold your medallion in your right hand, close your eyes, think of Alain, and relax."

Holding his own medallion in his right hand, dangling from the chain, Jacob began to chant softly, dangling the medallion over the map of the world. He moved it around, starting with Cairo and gradually expanding the circles. Suddenly, as he passed the medallion over North America, he felt something like an electric shock run up his arm. He turned in the atlas to a map of North America, and repeated the pattern. Again, the electrical shock, this time over Canada.

Repeating this process enabled them to narrow it down to somewhere in the Canadian Rockies, on the Alberta/British Columbia border. It was definitely west of Calgary and east of Revelstoke. Hinton was too far north and Cranbrook was too far south. That put Banff almost exactly in the center of the target area. All attempts to narrow it down further were unsuccessful.

"Well," said Jacob, "_now_ what?"

"We certainly know more now than we did," replied Jim, "we know he's not too far away, and narrowing it down to that relatively small area."

"Unfortunately, that was some of the roughest terrain on the continent."

"True. What can we do about it?"

"Are you still so tight with the Mountie at the Canadian Consulate?"

"Inspector Du Page? Sure."

"If you asked him, would he contact Banff and ask if there's been any unusual activity in the mountains lately?"

"I think so."

"Good. I don't know about you, but this has taken a lot out of me. I'm going to bed. Remember, if you have any odd dreams tonight, try to remember them and tell me about them."

No odd dreams marred either man's sleep. The next day at the precinct was unremarkable. During lunch, Jacob went to the public library and came back with a book, **The Jews of Scotland: a History.**

"I've got it, Jim!"

"What?"

"I was wondering what tartan to wear for Steven's wedding. This book tells me."

"What? How?"

"I looked in the index under _Sandburg_. Apparently a Sandburg family is or was quite prominent in the Jewish community of Glasgow. I don't know if I'm related to them, but I don't know for sure that I'm _not_. I'll assume that I am, and wear the Glasgow District sett. I'll just dash off an e-mail to Steve."

"Good. I heard from Inspector DuPage. He's called Banff and'll let me know what he finds out. Didn't Alain say his sister was a Mountie?"

"Yes, he said that she teaches Unarmed Combat & Self-Defense at the RCMP Academy. I guess that's the Canadian equivalent of Quantico?"

"More-or-less. Except I don't think the Fan Belt Inspectors have to learn Equitation. In any case, do you think we should contact her?"

"That might be a good idea. She'd be able to get us local support if we had to go up there. I'll look in some of Alain's letters to see if he ever mentioned her married name. Now, do you have the Morrison file?"

Jacob was able to find the name of Alain's sister--Superintendant Angela Martineau--and a search of the RCMP's website lead to her e-mail address. A quick exchange of e-mails revealed that she had not heard from her brother, but she wasn't worried, as he was often incommunicado. Jacob gave a summary of what they had found out--leaving aside the Shamanic elements--and she promised to make some inquiries from her end.

The next day a package was delivered to the Central Precinct by special messenger; it was addressed to Detectives Ellison & Sandburg, Major Crime.

When they opened the package--after checking it by both normal and Sentinel methods to show that it was not a bomb or some similar unpleasantness--they discovered it to contain a video tape; upon placing it in the VCR, they were shocked (but, somehow, unsurprised) to see the smiling, handsome, evil face of _Lee Brackett_ smirking at them from the screen.

"Hello, Jim, Blair--oh, sorry, you go by _Jacob_ now, don't you? I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about. It concerns an item of mutual interest I picked up in Egypt. I'll give you some clues."

The camera panned over to a table. Laid out on it were several martial arts weapons. There was a set of _nunchaku_, a pair of _sais_, a pair of _tonfas, _a stout walking stick and a _manriki-gusari_. Next to it was a neatly folded black cassock, with a white collar.

"That's a hint. More to come."

End of tape.

Jacob picked up the telephone and dialed.

"Jack? Jacob Sandburg here. What is Lee Brackett doing at large? What's he done, you ask? _He's _the one who kidnapped Alain in Cairo. No, I don't know how or when. I don't know why. How do I know? Because he sent me a video. No, not on the 'phone. On my way."

The denizens of the bullpen saw a 5' 8" blur emerge from Capt. Banks' office. As it passed the coatrack, a coat, furry hat, and carved walking stick vanished. Echoing behind came the Banks Bellow, "Where do you think you're going, Sand. . . ."; but it was addressed to empty air.

The weather was typical for a Washington winter: cold, with a mixture of rain and snow. People laughed at Sandburg's Volvo, but she was Swedish, and designed for even worse weather; the crazy transplanted Californians who didn't know how to drive had their SUVs and minivans in the ditch as she flew across the city to Rainier University. 

At the University, Sandburg parked the car and dashed across the campus at a dead run. He passed Hargrove Hall and the notorious Fountain with scarcely a glance, pounding down the path to the ultramodern building housing the School of Government. If Chancellor Edwards could have seen his face she would have hopped on her broomstick made best speed for Points Unknown; Brad Ventriss would have run screaming for his Mama.

Prof. Jack Kelso knew that his young former colleague was on his way; he did not realize, however, how quickly he could move when sufficiently motivated. He was therefore quite startled when the door to his office flew open, striking the wall with a noise like a gunshot, admitting an agitated Sandburg.

"_Brackett!"_ snarled the young man, making it sound like a swear word, "What's he been up to and why's he not in prison?"

"Sit down, Jacob. I'll answer all your questions, but not while you're standing over me puffing like a steam engine. Now, take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out slowly. Again. Feeling better?"

"No. One of my closest friends is in danger from a man who should be rotting in Levenworth. I won't feel better until I get to eviscerate Brackett with a rusty teaspoon! _Not until he's buried and I've done a Tarantella on his grave!_"

Kelso blinked; he'd never seen Sandburg so angry; he'd never even imagined that Sandburg _could_ get that angry.

"Well, here is what I have. Brackett was taken out of Levinworth. _Why_ is classified, and even I can't find out, but I think the Agency needed him for something. It was supposed to be a one time thing--after the mission, he was to return. However, he bolted and went underground. The Agency is after him now. He was last seen, as you know, in Cairo. Where he is now, nobody seems to know."

"Oh, I have an idea."

"Where?"

"No, Jack; the information conduit goes both ways. If I tell you my idea, you'll be on the horn to your friends in Langley; Brackett is _mine._ My oath as Shaman, _he's mine_."

It may have been a coincidence, but these last words coincided with a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. Jacob grabbed the papers from the cradle of Jack's printer and left, slamming the door behind him.

Meanwhile, back at the Central Precinct, both Jim and Simon were startled to see their junior colleague exit the department so precipitously and without so much as a by-your-leave.

_"Sandburg! Where do you think you're going?" _bellowed Simon.

"Sorry, sir--he's gone. I've never seen him move that fast."

"What put that burr under his tail? I know Alain's a good friend of his, but. . ."

"I think it's a combination of that and the fact that Brackett is a threat to me. The Sentinel protects the Tribe--and the Guide protects the Sentinel. I think Brackett wants to use us--me--again, and he's using Reynolds to get to Sandburg--and thus to me."

"Well, don't just sit there. Go after him, before he does something foolish. And take Connor. If you have to chase him down I don't want you alone."

The two grabbed their wraps and headed down to the garage. The attendant told them she had seen Sandburg heading out "as though all the demons of Hell were chasing him" in the general direction of Rainier University. 

Sweetheart pulled up at the Hargrove Lot, where they saw the Volvo. The two detectives piled out. Jim sniffed the air a couple of times, then turned and began to run across campus, with Megan behind. They passed the Fountain and headed towards the School of Government. An unexpected bolt of lightning and roll of thunder sent Jim to his knees. As Connor moved to help him up, the object of their search emerged from the building.

"Jim! Megan!" he called, "What're you doing here?"

"Simon sent us," said Megan, "Now, help me with this 200-pound sack of potatoes!"

"What happened?"

"That bit of _donner-und-blitzen_ did something to him. I think he'd extended his senses looking for _you_ and it hit him hard."

"OK. Now, Jim, dial it down, breathe. Can you get your feet under you? You're a little big for Connor and me to carry."

They hauled Jim to his feet, but he was able to stand.

"What happened, Jim? Was it the thunder, or the lightning?"

"Both. Neither. I felt something _inside_. Did you do something. . .Shamanic?"

Jacob looked a little embarrassed.

"Yes. I swore that I would stop Brackett. I probably shouldn't have--but what is done is done. Do either of you know how to dance the Tarantella?"

"What?" asked Connor.

"Welcome to the Sandburg Zone," said Jim.

The next day they were piled into Connor's Land Rover and heading for Canada. Superintendent Martineau would be meeting them at Banff. Originally, Jim and Jacob hadn't wanted to take Connor. Jacob remembered the conversation.

_"Jimbo," said Connor, "you __need__ me. Canada's out of your jurisdiction."_

_"It's likewise out of yours, Connor."_

_"Not as _**_far_**_ out!"_

_"Remember that little errand your priest friend sent me on the last time he was in Cascade?"_

_"How does taking papers to the Canadian consulate bear on this?"_

_"Jim, the sun may have set on the Empire, but there is an afterglow."_

_"I don't get it."_

_"Don't be such a Yank--or perhaps I should say 'jerk'! You're an educated man, Ellison."_

_She flashed her badge--not her Cascade PD badge, but her _**_other_**_ badge, for the Royal New South Wales Constabulary._

_"I'm an Officer of Her Majesty's Peace & Justice, Jim. Australia, Canada--__the same Queen. __The Canadian authorities will be more sympathetic to a Commonwealth cop running around in their backyard than to a couple of Yanks."_

As anticipated, at the Canadian border Connor flashed her RNSWC badge, and the guards waived her on with calls of **'God Save the Queen!'**; this was fortunate, as they had hidden several questionable--to say the least--items amid their luggage.

Driving all night, with minimal pit stops, and (mostly) ignoring speed limits--and with good luck on the weather brought them into Banff early that morning. Jacob was visibly shaken by Jim's and Megan's mountain driving technique--or lack thereof--but the truck and all three people were in one piece.

After calling a number on a scrap of paper he pulled out of his wallet, Jacob gave directions to a cabin on the mountainside just outside the town. As they drove up, a woman in an RCMP uniform came out onto the porch. When they got close enough to make out her features, it was obvious that this was Alain's sister; she looked like a female version of him--and even moved the way he did (although that may have been because of their common martial arts training, rather than genetics.)

After unloading the truck and moved their things into the cabin, they encountered a dark-haired man puttering about in the kitchen. 

"This," said Angela, "is my husband, Jean-Claude, of the Ottawa Crown Advocate's Office--that's more-or-less the same as a District Attorney in the U.S. Jean-Claude, these are Alain's friends, Lt. Ellison and Det. Sandburg, of Cascade, Washington, and Insp. Connor of the Royal New South Wales Constabulary. The bedrooms are down that hall; Insp. Connor is in the right-hand room and the two gentlemen are in the left-hand one. There's a bathroom if you want to freshen up. Dinner will be in about twenty minutes."

Dinner consisted of a rich, garlicky stew; Jean-Claude casually informed him that it was moose. Jacob and Megan remarked that it compared favorably with (on the one hand) ostrich and (on the other) kangaroo. Jim had to admit that it was good.

"I'd heard bad things about moose--I guess they hadn't had it cooked right," said Jim, sipping the Merlot.

After dessert--blackberry cobbler--Angela decided to face the elephant in the room.

"OK, Jacob. You say my brother has been kidnapped. You say it was by a rogue CIA agent. You say that he is being held somewhere near here. Now, tell me how you know this. I have some contacts in Canadian Intelligence. They informed me that _yes_, Alain disappeared in Cairo; they also confirm that Lee Brackett was seen in Cairo at about the same time, and that almost immediately afterwards he dropped out of sight. 

"Now, knowing Alain as I do and his propensity to involve himself in other people's problems, I'd believe that he crossed paths with Brackett. I can also believe that he thought he could deliver Brackett tied up like a present to Her Majesty's agents. Alain is good; the problem is, he knows it. I've warned him and warned him about overconfidence, and when we get him out of this invoke big sister's perogative and I'll kick him around the dojo a few times.

"All this brings me to ask how _you_ know that not only has Brackett taken him, but that he's being held near here."

"Spt. Martineau. . ." began Jacob.

"Angela, then."

"Angela. How open-minded are you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What Jacob means," put in Jim, "is that we have some. . .unusual sources of information."

"Psychics?"

"Something like that."

"Lets just say that I am willing to be persuaded. I've seen a great many things that defy rational explanation, especially when I worked with the First Nations. I've also seen a great deal of fakery. I judge by results."

Between them, Jim and Jacob told most of what had happened. Leaving out the spirit animals and the angels, they told how the mysterious wind blew out the Menorah and knocked three books off the shelf--three books that pointed to Alain. How Jacob's former colleague, a retired CIA agent, had pointed to Brackett. They told of their previous run-in with Brackett, glossing over the Sentinelian aspect, and of the tape delivered to Major Crime.

Angela and Jean-Claude sat very still afterwards. They looked at one another, then at the two Americans.

"I seem to remember seeing you two in the news a couple of years ago," said Angela, rising and crossing over to the bookshelf. She pulled down an old, leather-bound volume and brought it over to Jacob, who gasped. He showed it to Jim and Megan.

"_The Sentinels of Paraguay," _read Jim, "by. . ."

"Richard Burton," continued Megan.

"The explorer--not the actor," finished Jacob, looking at the Canadian couple, "_You're _not. . ."

"No. We _aren't_ a Sentinel-and-Guide pair," said Jean-Claude, surpressing a laugh, "My great-uncle, from whom I inherited this cabin, was an anthropologist. He believed in Sentinels, and searched all his life for one; he never found one. Correct me if I am wrong, but I think you were more fortunate."

"Your great-uncle was. . .?"

"Ian Campbell, of the University of Alberta."

"Prof. Campbell! Wow! This is amazing! His writings were prominent among my secondary sources. Do you still have any of his papers, his notes? Could I. . . .?"

"All of his academic papers are at the University Archives. I have a few of his journals; of course you can look at them."

"After," said Angela firmly, "we've rescued Alain."

"Yes, dear."

"And how do you propose, Jacob, that we find him? There's a lot of very rugged wilderness out there."

"The same way we tracked him so far. I intend to scry for him. But that can wait until tomorrow. I'm too tired to concentrate right now."

With that, they went to bed.

The next morning, after breakfast--everyone else had a hearty eggs-bacon-waffles-type meal; Jacob nibbled a dry English muffin and drank some cranberry juice, explaining that a heavy meal would interfere with his scrying--Jacob set up for the ritual.

When the dishes were cleared away, he spread a map of the Banff area on the table. He then took out his wolf medallion and Alain's scarf.

"Angela, do you have anything of your brother's?" he asked.

"Yes. This Coptic cross he gave me; he said it was blessed by the Patriarch of Alexandria."

"Good. Could you mark where we are, approximately? Thanks. Now, take the cross in your right hand. I'll use the scarf to bind your left hand to my right, and dangle my medallion over our location. Now, I want you to breathe slowly and deeply and think of Alain; picture him in your mind. Everyone else, form a circle around us; join hands if you can reach, and think of Alain."

Presently the medallion began to swing, drawing Jacob and Angela's hands to the north and west of the cabin's location. Then it began to spin. Sensing the change in the energy-flows, Jacob opened his eyes and stabbed his finger down on the spot.

"Well," said Angela, "that's not too far off from here. How experienced are you at winter camping?"

Jacob and Jim certainly were, as were the two Canadians; Megan, however, averred that she had never done so.

"That's no problem; one inexperienced person we can deal with. All right, this is my area of expertise. We can get most of the way to the area Jacob has pinned down by nightfall. We can camp out and then search it tomorrow. Jacob, once we get into the area, do you think you can pinpoint where Alain is?"

"I think so; I'd use a different method, though."

"There are rumors of secret underground military installations in that part of the mountains; the rumors also say that they have been largely abandoned with the end of the Cold War. I would guess that this Brackett person knew or has learned about one of them and is holed up there. Why I don't know.

"Now, Jacob, I don't want you going out there with just a bit of bread and juice in you. Sit down and eat while the rest of us get ready. Megan, we're about the same size; you can wear some of my spare stuff. Now, what about weapons? I have some here. Technically, you three shouldn't carry in Canada, but under the circumstances, I'll look the other way."

"We brought a small arsenal," said Megan grimly, "the border guards wouldn't search a vehicle driven by a fellow Officer of the Queen's Peace & Justice, now would they?"

"Technically they should have. You're sworn to the Australian Crown, not the Canadian, for all they're worn by the same person. I _should_ arrest the lot of you--but I won't. I hope my superiors never find out!"

Everyone began getting ready. While Jacob filled up on a hearty second breakfast--("Cholesterol city!" "You'll burn it off keeping warm, Chief!")--the others assembled their packs. Jim and Megan unloaded the arsenal from the Land Rover. Angela and Jean-Claude brought up another arsenal from the cellar, along with snowshoes for everyone.

When all was ready, they set out. Angela and Jean-Claude lead, with Jacob and Megan in the center and Jim at tail.

Hours later, as it began to get dark, Angela began looking for a campsite. Soon she found a niche in the bottom of a cliff; it wasn't quite a cave, as it was open to the sky, but it was sheltered from the winds. She had brought two low tents, really little more than shelters over their sleeping bags; one small one for herself and Megan, and a slightly larger one for the three men. These she set up at the entrance of the niche, and set Jacob and Megan to piling snow around them. ("Make a wall," she said, "think of the snow-forts you made when you were little.") Jim and Jean-Claude went out to find firewood, while Angela stacked rocks for a firepit. When they returned Jim had not only wood, but two rabbits. Angela set up the fire, then looked at Jacob.

"I suppose firestarting isn't one of your psychic gifts."

"I don't know," he replied, "I've never tried."

He frowned at the pinecones she was using for kindling, but nothing happened.

"I suppose we'll have to do it the hard way."

Between them, Jim and Angela soon got the fire going. Jim went off around the corner to skin and dress the rabbits. Jean-Claude put the three-legged skillet over the fire to heat. He browned the rabbits, then added some melted snow-water, some freeze-dried vegetables, and some spices. Soon a marvelous smell filled the little niche. After eating and a bit of cleanup, they bundled into their tents and sleeping bags. There came the snarl of a great cat, and howl of a wolf, both sounding very close.

"We're being guarded," said Jacob.

"The wolf and the jaguar?" asked Jim.

"Yes."

"We're too far north for jaguars," said a sleepy Jean-Claude,"probably a cougar."

"Jaguar," whispered Jacob at a Sentinelian level.

The next morning, after a breakfast of cold rabbit and some granola bars, they broke camp, attending to cleanup chores. They then set out and walked for a couple of hours. Angela announced that they had entered the area Jacob's scrying had shown to be where Alain was.

Pulling Alain's scarf out, Jacob tied it to his cane, just below the crook. Pointing his stick out in front of him, he closed his eyes and willed himself into a light trance. Suddenly, the stick pulled him to the right, about 45° off from their direction of travel. He began to move off in the new direction.

The staff pulled them towards their destination in a straight line; this caused some problems, as the did encounter some obstacles; after each detour, however, Jacob was able to dowse the correct path. Shortly after noon, they came to the base of a cliff, where they stopped.

"He's here. Inside this mountain. I don't know where the entrance is, though."

"This is where I come in," put in Jim.

It was odd, being around so many people who accepted his Sentinelism. On the one hand, Jacob and Megan had been working with him for years; on the other, Angela and Jean-Claude had believed in Sentinels long before they had met one. One group seemed to be thinking, 'OK, Jim--do that thing you do;' the other, 'So that's how it works!'

About half and hour later, they found a cave. It looked perfectly natural--and, perhaps, had been originally. It was large enough for all of them to fit comfortably.

"This is it," announced Jim, "the entrance is here. I just need to find the door."

"Rest first," said Jacob in the Guide Command Voice. Jim knew better than to resist, and (truth to tell) he was tired. Angela produced some RCDF MRE's for lunch; not too bad, as such things go.

After eating, Jim began to probe the walls of the cave with his senses. Jacob stood behind him, one hand at the small of his back, occasionally speaking softly. This went on for a long time; the others were wondering if Jim could manage it, when he stiffened. Jacob pulled him back from the brink of a zone. Jim pushed on a protuberance in the stone at the back of the cavern, which moved aside revealing an alphanumeric keypad.

"OK, Jim," muttered Jacob, "the electronics should make the live keys hum a little; use hearing and touch, piggybacked. What is the key sequence? You've done it before; not often, but you can do it."

All held their breath. Jim's finger stabbed out in a sequence. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a section of wall turned on a gimbal, revealing a narrow tunnel, about wide enough for two abreast, sloping gently downwards.

"Jean-Claude, you stay here," said Angela firmly.

"Angela, why?"

"Brackett won't just give Alain back. Things might get ugly."

"Angela, I'm a better shot than you are."

"On the range, yes. Hunting, yes. _You've never had to shoot a human being_, and I don't want you to have to start now. The four of us are law enforcement officers; we've trained for this. You haven't."

(Jim and Blair looked at one another. "This conversation was sounding very familiar," muttered Jacob at a Sentinelic volume; Jim grinned.)

"Yes, dear."

"You'll stay in the cave and wait for us."

"Yes, dear."

"You won't follow us."

"No, dear."

("Whipped!" Jacob breathed, Sentinel-soft.)

Jacob and Jim lead. Angela and Maggie came behind.

"I smell chemicals," muttered Jim.

"I've heard rumors that chemical and biological warfare supplies were stored in these underground facilities," replied Angela.

"Hand weapons only; a muzzle-flash could cause an explosion."

The tunnel went on, going fairly straight, with only an occasional turn. From time to time the downward ramp was broken by a short flight of stairs. Only Jim's Sentinel senses saved them from a few nasty falls.

After an indefinable time, they came out into a large chamber. The mouth of the tunnel was concealed behind several stacked pallets of metal drums. Beyond the stacks, a light shone, and there were voices. The four slipped quietly through the maze towards the light. There, in an empty space in the middle of the cavern, were Brackett and Alain.

As always, Brackett looked cool and in control, every hair in place, dressed in an elegance that would put Rafe or MacArdry to shame. It was an outfit highly inappropriate for a cave in the middle of the Canadian Rockies. Alain was stripped to his underwear and tied to a chair. He was a bit battered and bruised, but essentially undamaged. On the table next to him were his weapons and cassock, as Jim and Blair had seen them in the video.

"Soon," Brackett was saying, "my other clues will be delivered to the Sentinel and his Guide. They'll figure out where you are, and they'll try to rescue you. They aren't devious enough to recognize you for what you are--bait. Once I have them. . . ."

Jim motioned for the two ladies to hang back in the shadows. He and Jacob stepped out into the light.

"You want us, Brackett? Take us, if you think you can!" he called out.

"What. . .how. . .you only had the first clue. How did you know?"

"We have our ways," snarled Jacob, "Now we'll collect our friend and go."

"I think not, little Guide," purred Brackett. He clapped his hands and six large thugs emerged from the shadows. They placed themselves between Brackett and the Sentinel and Guide.

"Your Sentinel is a formidable fighter, and for a runt you aren't too bad yourself. But six against two is long odds even for you."

"That's _four_," said Megan, as she and Angela stepped out of the shadows.

"A pair of queens beats a knave," said Jacob.

"Lee Brackett, I place you and your henchmen under arrest," intoned Angela, "Surrender yourselves to the Queen's Justice that you might obtain her Mercy."

"I spit on your Queen!" snarled Brackett; then, in a roar, to the thugs, "**Take them!**" 

The thugs advanced as the four police officers spread out in one of the standard group-combat formations. The thugs were large and strong, but they were largely untrained, and had no idea of group work; they ran into one another like Keystone Kops. 

As Jim bashed the heads of two together, he realized that these were the last. Brackett was standing, gawping in disbelief. Behind him, Alain had wriggled out of his bonds and was standing, shakily, by the table. He had picked up his nunchaku.

Brackett gasped, then twisted like a lizard pulled the lid off a cask, and tipped it onto the floor, releasing a foul-smelling liquid into the cavern. Jim dropped to his knees, choking and gasping. Megan and Angela attempted to support him.

Jacob had never understood the expressiong 'a towering rage'; he did now. He felt as though he were expanding until he was bigger than Jim--bigger than Simon, even. Everything seemd to be enveloped in a red mist as he lifted his cane and lept forward across the puddle. Through a roaring in his ears he heard a howling like an angry wolf; the howl seemed to contain curses in several languages.

Brackett obviously still thought of Jacob as the mild-mannered graduate student he had been, despite having observed him in action against the thugs. It was only when 140 lbs. of Shamanic rage had almost reached him that he realized his danger. He attempted to draw his gun, but before he could aim and fire it, Jacob's cane came down on his wrist. The _snap_ of breaking bones filled the cavern as Brackett dropped the gun. All his composure left him, and he turned and fled towards another tunnel.

"Come back here, coward! How _dare _you!?" howled Jacob, "Hurt my Sentinel, will you? Kidnap my friend, will you? _**Well take this!!"**_

Snatching up the lid to the spilled cask, he threw it like a frisbee. It caught Brackett between the shoulderblades, knocking him forward. He scrambled across the floor on three points, somehow getting to his feet just before Jacob was upon him. Jacob reached out with his cane, caught one ankle with the crook, and jerked up and back. Brackett fell to his hands-and-knees, yelping as his injured wrist struck the ground. He cow-kicked backwards, aiming for Jacob's abdomen; the latter twisted, and the kick caught him on the hip, spinning him against a pallet of barrels. He bounced off them, unhurt, but Brackett was able to get far enough away to vanish into the tunnel. 

Jacob followed, his stream multilingual invective echoing back into the main cavern; French, Spanish, Quechua, and what was either Yiddish or German were identifiable, although some of the words didn't seem to fit any of these languages. From what the listeners could understand, his threats to Brackett were original and highly painful, showing a strong grasp of anatomy.

Suddenly there fell a silence, broken by a drawn-out shriek, abruptly cut off. Presently, Jacob returned. Angela had found some sawdust, which she had spread on the chemical. It still smelled rather bad, but it was bearable. Megan had done her 'backup Guide' bit, and gotten Jim to dial back smell. Alain had dressed.

"What did you do to him?" asked Jim.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't have to. There was a chasm," said Jacob quietly, "with a bridge across it. One of his shoelaces had come untied. He stepped on it. He fell. And fell. I was able to grab his jacket. He slipped right out of it. I couldn't see the bottom, but it sounded a long way down. I don't think Brackett will be bothering anyone again."

Jim walked a little ways down the tunnel and took a deep sniff.

"He's dead, Chief," he said, "I can smell his blood. . .and other things. I can't hear a heartbeat."

"What shall we do with these?" asked Megan, indicating the six thugs.

"Leave them," said Angela, "tied up, but loosly, so that they'll be able to work themselves free in time--but not before we're well away. If I arrest them, there are irregularities in this operation I'd _never _be able to explain; added to that, the RCDF will become involved. We Mounties have a reputation as 'Straight Arrows', but even we can see that expediency is sometimes the best way. We need to get Alain back to civilization."

James Joseph Ellison pondered his various rôles in life, as he stood in his kitchen one late December morning. Top detective in the elite Major Crime division of the Cascade Police Department; scion of one of the First Families of Cascade; decorated officer of the U.S. Army Rangers; Sentinel of the Great City; Enqueri of the Chopec; etc., etc. Now, however, he was simply a man about to marry off a brother. At least he wasn't father of the bride; as brother of the groom all he had to do was assure that Steven showed up on time, properly clothed, and sober. His outfit was laid out on the bed and his shoes were shined. The limo would be picking him up--he had called the company to confirm--and drive him over to his brother's condo, from whence they would proceed to the church.

December 30th was, to his mind, an odd day for a wedding, but Steven had explained it quite logically: as the day before New Year's Eve it would be hard for forget the anniversary, and being just after Christmas, elaborate and expensive anniversary presents would probably not be expected most years.

The shower stopped running. Presently, the door to the bathroom opened, letting out a cloud of steam and a 5' 8" pile of terrycloth. The pile shuffled down the hall, halting opposite the kitchen. Jim filled a mug with coffee and held it out; a muscular arm emerged from the pile to accept it. The pile then moved into the small room under the stairs, shutting the French doors behind itself.

Jim busied himself in the kitchen, and by the time the pile of terrycloth--now transformed into his partner, Shaman, Guide, and best friend B. Jacob Sandburg--emerged from his room, breakfast (or, more properly _brunch_) was ready.

"Feeling more human?" asked Jim.

"Much. I'm glad you have only the one brother, Jim--I don't think I could take many Ellison bachelor parties."

"Actually, I have two."

"Eh?"

"Two brothers. Steven and _you_."

"Aww. . _. Jim_!"

"Eat up, Sandburg. We've not got all day."

Soon the food was eaten and the dishes washed up. The two men retired to their respective rooms to change into their glad rags. Sandburg would be wearing a tux with a tie and cummerbund in Glasgow District Tartan; Jim (like Steven) would be wearing Highland formal dress.

From the woolen knee-socks, with a dirk in the top of the right-hand one, to the "Prince Charlie Coatee" and waistcoat, to the fly-plaid held to the shoulder with a heavy silver brooch, to the tam-o'-shanter hat tilted at exactly the correct angle, Jim Ellison looked as though he had stepped out of the pages of a costume book.

"Wow!" said Jacob, "Tell me, Jim, what _do_ you wear under a kilt?"

"Traditionally, nothing. However, modern hazards like polished linoleum floors and patent leather shoes have lead to such innovations as _briefs._"

Whatever remark Sandburg might have made was forestalled by a knock at the door. It was the limo driver, come to take them to Steve's place, and thence to the church.

"Jim," asked Jacob, as soon as they were under weigh, "tell me--you and Steve were raised R.C.--why is he getting married in an Episcopalian service?"

"Maggie was raised Presbyterian. They compromised."

They got to Steven Ellison's condo, to find the groom there still in his robe. He had showered, but his hair looked as though he had stuck his finger in a light socket, and he was obviously highly hung over.

Jim gave the limo driver a large tip to wait. He and Jacob bundled the protesting Steve back into his bedroom. Jacob got the hairdressing supplies from the bathroom and did what he could, while Jim dressed his brother as though he were a life sized Ken doll. Jacob, having anticipated something like this, had brought a thermos full of a special herbal tea. He presented Steven with a cup.

"What is it?'

"Dr. Chou's Special Antihangover Blend."

"But what's in it?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that. _Drink!_"

Steven hesitated. Jacob fixed him with what Jim knew as _The Look_. Stronger and braver people than Steven had succumbed to _The Look_. He put up a bit of a struggle, Jim gave him due credit, but a hung over Steven couldn't resist _The Look _for long. Accepting the cup with an expression Socrates might have used in accepting the hemlock, he took a sip. Then another.

"All of it," said Sandburg, using _The Voice_. Jim had learned long ago not to even try resisting _The Voice_; Steven, having had less experience, made a half-hearted attempt, but knew he was licked. He drank.

"Steve," said Jim, "life for an Ellison is a lot easier when you just do what a Sandburg says. Sometimes I think the name should be SandBORG, because _resistance is futile_."

"Yeah," said Steve, "Look at our dad and his mom."

"Our stepmom-to-be."

"At least she's not our stepmother _yet,_" said Steve, looking a little more alert as the tea began to take effect,"the mother of the groom is supposed to 'wear beige and shut up.' Can you imagine _her _doing either?"

"Guys--are we going go through that again? If Naomi would be a Brothers Grimm stepmother, Bill certainly has Murdstonian potential. Anyway, as I've said before, Bill and Naomi may like each other, but they don't _like_ each other. "

"Denial is more than a river in Egypt, Sandburg!"

"Ha! Now, let's get going."

St. Michael & All Angels' Episcopal Church was a large, brick structure of neo-Romanesque design; the acoustics were very nearly perfect, and the church was often a venue for recordings. It was unusual in that it had two organs--one in the chancel and the other in the balcony; both were tracker actions, the chancel organ having been built and installed in 1998 for the church, and the balcony organ having been built in 1902 for a now-demolished church in Seattle. The chancel organ normally accompanied the congregation, while the balcony organ played the voluntaries and accompanied the anthems; sometimes they were used together for pieces _a chori spezzati._ The church was also famous for two works of art--a rose window depicting Michael Casting Down Satan on the West end and a fresco of the Harrowing of Hell painted on the inside of the apse.

The church was still hung with the holly, ivy, and evergreens from Christmas. Jim's nose wrinkled from the pine and cedar mixed with incense.

"Dial it down!" hissed his Guide, "Your hearing, too."

The bride's side was filled mostly with law enforcement people. Maggie's father and brothers were all cops, as were most of her friends. Some were in mufti, others were in uniform. Jim and Jacob recognized several different forces; there were even a couple of red-jacketed Mounties. The groom's side were mostly lawyers and businessmen, although several Ellison relatives had also come. 

The ushers and groomsmen were mostly Steven's business associates, aside from the Best Man (James Joseph Ellison) and Head Usher (B. Jacob Sandburg). Some wore full Highland dress like the groom and best man (each in his own tartan; the non-Scots wearing USA-St. Andrews or one of the Armed Forces tartans), while others wore tuxes with a tartan tie and/or cummerbund. 

The balcony organ and the Cascade Police Band's Brass Quintet had been playing festal prelude music as the congregation found their seats. Now the chancel organ sounded as the processional cross and thurifer lead the sanctuary party; the congregation rose and sang to Beethoven's tune :

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love;  
Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, opening to the sun above.  
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away;  
Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day!

**. . . . .**

Mortals, join the happy chorus, which the morning stars began;  
Father love is reigning o'er us, brother love binds man to man.  
Ever singing, march we onward, victors in the midst of strife,  
Joyful music leads us skyward in the triumph song of life.

The Rector of St. Michael's was the officiant, but among the assisting clergy were the Headmaster of Aquinas Preparatory Institute (the Ellison boys' prep school), the Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian (where Maggie had grown up), the C.P.D.'s Protestant Chaplain, and Fr. Alain Reynolds, who--so quickly that one not looking might miss it--gave Jim and Jacob a 'thumbs up' sign.

As soon as the clergy were in their places, the organs and brass fell silent, and a single bagpiper sounded as the bridal party entered. All of the bridesmaids were policewomen. It had been suggested that they wear their dress uniforms, but Maggie's mother had talked them out of that idea. Each bridesmaid wore a sash and stole of her own tartan over an evening dress in a complementary color. ('Don't go and get something that'll hide in the back of your closet,' instructed the practical Maggie, 'get something nice you can wear for formal occasions later on.')

Maggie, with her height, black hair, and blue eyes was always a striking woman; now she was beautiful. It is only polite to say that of any bride on her wedding day, but in this case it was the truth. Her gown was in a simple cut, with a low waist a high collar, and long sleeves. No lace or fancy embroidery marred its clean lines. A length of Ross tartan went around her waist, over one shoulder, and up over her forearm. As befit a Christmas bride, her bouquet was of holly, ivy, and mistletoe, and her veil was held in place by a wreath of holly. Steven's eyes bulged and he almost ceased to breathe; when Maggie got to the chancel steps, he did not move to join her until Jim jabbed him fairly hard in the ribs.

A dinner and dance at the Cascade Country Club followed the service. Maggie tossed her bouquet over her shoulder in the traditional manner; one of the bridesmaids--a detective from Seattle whom neither Jim nor Jacob knew--caught it. She then lifted her skirt and allowed Steven to take her garter; he threw it over his shoulder, where it was caught by--B. Jacob Sandburg, who accepted the traditional teasing. After the meal and the toasts, the cake was brought forward, a multi-layered confection with figurines of the bride and groom on top; again, in the traditional manner, the bride and groom cut the cake together and fed one another. Some people alleged that there was a muttered commentary from one end of the head table concerning wedding customs and rituals in various cultures.

The dancing was opened by the groom's doing a Highland sword dance, but (much to most people's relief) the other music was entirely standard social dance fare. Waltzes, polkas, mazurkas and two-steps succeded one another; occasionally Latin and other unusual dances were interspersed, and when one of these was the lively 6/8 strain of a Tarantella, Jacob and Megan were among the brave souls who attempted it.

In the mountains, a wolf and a panther filled in a wolverine's empty den.

**=end=**

   [1]: mailto:lawrence81@iwon.com
   [2]: http://www.tartans.com/cgi-bin/clans.cgi
   [3]: http://www.lindaclifford.com/
   [4]: http://www.animalpix.net/



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